One Of The Family
by surry
Summary: Family always comes first, no matter what. The Wildes are still learning that. (Thanks for the feedback, everyone. Takes place roughly ten years after the events of the movie. Harsh, biting criticism is welcomed and encouraged.)
1. Chapter 1

There were so many smells.

The oven dinged. That meant the mini carrotcakes were done, always a hit with the kids.

Nick neatly rolled up the sleeves of his padded, red and orange plaid shirt (which he had borrowed from Judy's dad) and put on some mitts he'd left by the stove. He opened the oven door, letting heat billow outward, pummeling him in the face; he ignored it and pushed through, reaching for the metal cake pans, and pulled out both of them.

Expertly shutting the door using his furry foot, he then set the pans evenly on the yellow marble countertop.

The sun was pouring through every window, lighting up the sizable kitchen with a hopeful, afternoon glow, and Judy's mom, Bonnie, was working beside Nick at the sink, straining various vegetables under running water. The fox stood a full head and shoulders over her, nearly double her height; he was actually the tallest mammal on the whole Hopps carrot farm.

He reached for the cupboards over her head and looked inside them, searching, carefully standing just out of her way.

"Sorry, Mom," he said, arms outstretched. "But you wouldn't happen to know where the icing is, would you?"

Bonnie looked around, perplexed. "Um, try that one," she pointed with her drenched paw to another cabinet. "Nicky, if you need more, we could always pick it up later or just make some at home."

"That would take too long," he said. "The little ones haven't stopped bugging me since we got here. And they're getting anxious. Speaking of which—" he placed his paw on her shoulder, catching her attention, "— how's that blueberry pie coming along?"

"The pie?" she asked inquisitively, seeing his playful grin. Her puzzlement quickly morphed into terror. She gasped, "Oh no, the Son-in-law pie!" Bonnie panicked, haphazardly turning off the faucet. "I almost forgot! It won't be done in time! Nicky, I'm so sorry—"

"Woah — woah!" Nick attempted to calm the rabbit down. "Mom, don't worry about it. I was just joking, you should know that by now. We got bigger potatoes to fry anyway."

They both glanced to the barrel full of potatoes sitting next to the fridge, which was probably not the healthiest thing for rabbits to be eating.

"I know," she said, grabbing a towel from beside the sink to wipe her paws. "You're right, worry about that later — can't lose focus now. Judy and her father will have a cow if we don't finish by six, and so will the kids."

"No, they won't," he shook his head.

It was his turn to use the sink; he rolled up his thick, fall-colored sleeves even further than before and turned the faucet back on. "We've got nothing but time anyway," he noted. He removed Bonnie's strained vegetables, shaking them out, and plopped them on the counter, then washed his paws under the warm water, also rinsing his silvery wedding ring.

"You don't know them like I do," Bonnie said, taking a vegetable peeler out of a nearby drawer.

They both went to work; Nick found a long cutting knife and a cutting board, and began dicing up carrots, squashes, and a handful of potatoes, which Bonnie had begun deftly unwrapping just a few feet away. Most of them she placed back in the barrel. A few minutes were spent between them diligently working rather than talking, but Bonnie finally piped up.

"I'm sorry I haven't started the pie yet," she said, almost lamenting Nick's loss. "I have thirty-eight son-in-laws, and of course I forget to make my favorite one's pie."

"Don't worry about it," he assured her again. "I won't go savage on anyone like last time. I promise."

They both comfortably chuckled.

"I could only imagine the look on your face," Bonnie started; Nick's ears perked up as he continued slicing, "—when she told you about the fox repellant, I mean."

"Oh, yeah." Nick smiled at her while cutting into a yellow squash. "She told me that story right before I met you guys for the first time, and I won't lie to you. I was a _little_ nervous."

Bonnie continued peeling, getting some moisture from the potatoes on her blue apron. "We were too," she admitted, "... but, I could tell at dinner. You were shivering the whole time, we thought you were going to have a heart attack or something, you poor dear. But now you're just another member of our big, happy bunch."

"I'll say," Nick agreed. "Talk about a big family, biggest I've ever seen, and I stick out like a purple elephant, being the only one who's not a bunny. That New Year's party you guys threw — _crazy_! I've never seen so many rabbits in my entire life." He took a pawful of carrots and cut off the ends and tips, moving onto another bunch, and then another bunch, and then another.

Something suddenly cracked behind them, a door slamming, and they both turned. It was the screened front door, and there was also a familiar voice approaching from the other room.

"So you'll be here by six?" inquired Judy, unceremoniously entering the kitchen; her cellphone was pressed firmly to her drooped ear and Nick sensed a trace of anxiety in her voice. The lower brims of her jeans had flakes of dirt clinging to them. "Okay, yes, that's fine," she said, nodding.

Judy was also carrying a green book, which Nick immediately recognized.

He and Bonnie exchanged shocked glances, stopping what they were doing.

Judy stepped flatly towards the fox, who had quietly set the knife down on the counter. "You need my info again?" she asked aloud, sounding annoyed with whoever was on the other end. "Alright, it's W-I-L-D-E, Judy Wilde, or the reservation may be under the name Hopps, which would be my parents. I forget which one we used."

As she approached Nick, her purple eyes found those of her husband's. Without putting the phone down, she tugged on his shirt and wordlessly pecked her fox on the lips, acknowledging him, to which he happily reciprocated. Their kiss was brief and she silently gave him the book. Judy then moved on to her mother to give her a hug.

"Yep, that's us," she said into the phone, looking between her mom and Nick. She made strange gestures with her paws as if to emphasize her voice.

"Great, so everything's taken care of?

...

Awesome! Great, thanks again."

Relieved, she finally put her phone into her pants pocket, although her paws went to massaging her temples. Something was plaguing her mind.

"Uh, Carrots, why do you have her book?" Nick asked pointedly, holding it up.

Her mom seemed equally concerned, wiping her apron in broad streaks. "Judy, do you want to tell us what's wrong?"

Judy then placed her paws on her hips, standing akimbo, only shaking her head at her husband.

"I need you to find our daughter, Nick, because I can't," she admitted, half-frowning. "I've looked all over the farm and it's like she just up and vanished. She's gone. Jim took her book and —"

"— Jim did _what_?" Nick sharply interrupted.

"Oh no," murmured Bonnie. "Judy, I'm sure he was just being a boy. There isn't a bad bone in that bunny's body."

"Yeah, I know," Judy nodded bluntly at her mother. "But this isn't the first time, mom. He should have known better."

Nick was almost fuming, towering over her. "Let me go talk to him, Judy."

"That's not necessary, you'll only scare him," she brushed off that thought, eyes locked with him, completely unafraid of her husband. "Please find our daughter, Nick. You're both foxes. Maybe you know something I don't, something that will help you look for her. Do you think you could smell her out?"

Nick peered down at the book, inspecting it, turning it over in his ruddy paws. "I could try," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders. And after a moment, he motioned for the doorway with his bushy tail and his daughter's book in tow. "I'll go find her, Carrots."

"Nick," said Judy; the fox paused before leaving, ears at attention. He knew that tone. "If you see Jim, don't be too harsh with him. I already was, and the last thing he needs right now is for us to gang up on him."

Their eyes met fleetingly, and he offered only a confident smile to his wife. Then, like a ghost, he moved to the next room and out the screened door, out into the afternoon sun. Out into the wide fields of the farm.

Bonnie silently came to her side, wiping her paws again with a rag before handing it over to her daughter. "I wouldn't worry too much, sweetheart," she said. "You married a good one."

"I know." Judy accepted the rag and casually approached the sink; her mother simply watched and waited. She ran some water, which was cold, and cleaned whatever was on her paws using the cloth and some soap. After a thorough rinse, she shut off the faucet and took up the knife Nick had been using. "That's the thing, mom. With him around, I don't worry as much. That's why we make such great partners."

"Great parents, too," her mom added.

"Yeah," Judy admitted with a sigh, grinning to herself. She started chopping, looking to finish what Nick was already in the middle of doing. "We try, mom."

Her mother obnoxiously rolled her eyes, which Judy never saw, and then went back to silently helping.

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly dusk.

The hills were the quietest place on the entire farm, and still quieter were the trees that touched their bounds, all quite far away from the hustle and bustle of the enormous Hopps family house and its carrot fields.

If you climbed one of these trees you would be able to see everything, every rabbit down below, even in the setting sun of fall.

So that was exactly what she did.

Ella was a fox, a small one, and a constant daydreamer.

She was skinny for an eight year old, too, and had soft green eyes, which often reminded her of her adoptive father whenever she looked in the mirror. She also had a toothy smile — on the few occasions that she did smile, and lively red fur.

And the glasses. Those huge, horrible glasses. Her older brother always teased her when she wore them.

Their thick frames rested comfortably on her short snout, just so no one could ever really appreciate her eyes.

But it did not matter anymore. No one would find her up in that tree, half a world away from her perspective.

"Stupid Jimmy," she mumbled angrily from the safety of the tree; her voice was as small as she was. A tight lump formed in her throat, and she struggled not to cry. "I just wanted to read. Why can't you ever leave me alone?"

Her furry legs dangled freely off the girthy branch of an old oak, a lone tree upon the hillside, swaying with the breeze, and waves of red and orange leaves undulated all around her. She wore a form-fitting, green sun dress, something her mother had picked out on her insistence, and she regretted it now. It was too girly. Pants would have been better. Or so that's what her brother told her.

Jim was down there, somewhere, and there were tons of them, rabbits everywhere, all technically her cousins; it was just too hard for her to fit in, so she gave up for today. Only two of them even liked to read, and they got roped into playing games. They played near where the adults were preparing for the party, some stupid game that involved fifty or so rabbits, along with a stupid ball, in the stupid grass, and, by her choice, no foxes.

From her high vantage point she could see tall, triangular tents, chairs, long tables, and all sorts of food, gathered in droves.

And still more rabbits, all clothed in very rustic outfits. She thought they looked like grayish, brownish, furry ants from here.

The Hopps house stood proudly over everything, she could see the twinkling of lights inside and the plumes of smoke rising from the twin chimney tops.

She did not want any part of it.

"I'll just stay here," she groaned, folding her furry arms. "Who needs them anyway?"

"—Blueberry?" came a distinctly male voice from down below.

She jumped, her heart leaping into her throat; she briskly thrust her body against the tree, her claws buried themselves in its bark.

"Ella!" the voice called out with more authority, "I can see your toes!"

It was her father.

She reeled in her feet completely out of sight.

"Leave me alone!" she whined. "I'm not coming down!"

"Yes, you are." Nick stated it as a fact, lowering his voice just enough so she could hear. "Your mother's been searching everywhere for you, and so have I. Please, Ella."

She poked her head out, peeking at him from her lookout through her monstrous glasses. His eyes startled her, and then she remembered why she left in the first place.

"Jimmy stole my book!" she tattled.

Nick held up something green. "You mean this one?" he asked.

His daughter carefully studied what was in his paw, but it was hard to make out from this distance. A closer inspection would be necessary.

"C'mon, Blueberry," he coaxed her again, steadily dropping his parental tone. "Let's go eat, I'm starving!"

Their eyes met for a few dragged out moments while she sat in the tree, pondering her options. The wind was picking up, rattling the branches and leaves; the sun was almost gone.

Her final choice was obvious.

She reluctantly placed her foot on a lower branch, and then onto another one. "... fine ..." she moaned gingerly, slowly easing her way down.

Nick watched from below, clearly concerned, and a little surprised by her natural abilities as a climber. His daughter always kept him on his toes.

It took her about half a minute or so to get down, and when she did, her furry feet plopped on the ground. She wore a deep-seated frown, plainly avoiding eye contact with her father.

"Sweetheart," he said, handing her the book. She snatched it up and hugged it closely, and he delicately placed his paws on her tiny shoulders. "You can't just run off like this every time Jim does something mean. We were worried about you."

"I can take care of myself," she grumbled.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," he jabbed.

He got down on one knee, surprising her, and engulfed her with his arms the way a father should. She was initially unreceptive to his embrace, feeling the tugging on her dress, but it was getting too hard to keep lying to herself.

It was a good hug, a long one, and very warm. Her father had always excelled in the hug department.

He released her, and their mutually green pairs of eyes met, much closer than before. And yet, she still frowned.

"What book are you reading, anyway?" he asked.

A smile started to weasel its way in. No one had bothered to ask her that all day. "Tails of Two Cities," she responded gleefully. "I've read it five times already."

"Wow," he smiled too. "You know, of all the required reading I had to do in school, that was the book I got the closest to finishing."

Her smile grew wider.

"Look, Ella," his tone suddenly changed. "I'm sorry about today. I know we're the only foxes here. I also know we're good at taking care of ourselves, but you have a family that loves you and wants to see you, including your brother — who can be a bit of a doofus sometimes."

"Why'd you ever adopt him anyway?" she asked harshly, almost ignoring his last comment.

Her smile had vanished. "— and how did you find me?"

Nick stifled a laugh, still gazing up at her with his signature grin.

"Well, that first one is kind of a long story," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "As for the second, you're the only other fox within five miles of here. You're not hard to sniff out in a sea of rabbits."

Ella silently wondered how he managed to sneak up on her, unable to figure out how she did not smell him first.

Nick then stood up tall, though unimposing to her, and motioned for her to follow him, with his paw resting softly on the spot where her neck met her back. They started for the farm, she nearly dragged her feet in protest.

"You can tell me," she said, keeping her guard up, peering up at him as they walked and clutching her book closely to her hip. "I want to know why."

"I don't think so," Nick said, smiling down at her, just like his mom had always done with him. "I think we should put that off until another day."

They approached the bottom of one hill, and it got dark; the swarm of rabbits fell out of sight, the tree was far behind them. His daughter constantly sighed, growing despondent and aloof.

"—okay, fine," he said finally, biting his lip. "You know how laws work, right?"

"Of course," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Well," he continued, "the law played a pretty big part ... You see, when I asked your mom to marry me, she gave me one condition, and that condition was you and your brother."

"Me ... and Jimmy?" she asked, her long eyelashes fluttered behind her huge frames.

"Yeah," her father nodded. "At first, your mom just wanted a family, and we found out, together, that there were certain rules. The law states that mammals can only adopt members of a similar species, and there's a good reason for that, but I'll leave out the nitty gritty—"

"—So why did you get a bunny _and_ a fox?" she interrupted.

"Oh," he nervously scratched under his chin. "Well ... I guess you're old enough. I _suppose_ I could tell you."

" _Please_ ," she implored, looking him in the eye.

"Alright," he shrugged, embarrassed by how much sway she had over him. "Since you're mom and I are legally bound together ... um, 'inter-species', we'll call it, that means we could adopt either foxes, rabbits, or in our case, both."

"So, Mom wanted Jim," she assured herself. "And you chose me?"

A dagger struck him, right at that particular statement, something did not sit right. A deep valley tore open in his stomach.

And she paused, too.

"Actually, Blueberry," he struggled to find the words, still grinning sideways, hoping that along with her nickname would cushion the blow. "I was the one who wanted to adopt Jim ...

and it was your mom who chose you."

Ella went silent.

She stopped.

"Wait, that came out wrong — we chose you together, we're your parents — and you're the most precious things we'll ever have."

She still said nothing.

"Just come here, please, Blueberry ..." Nick started getting desperate; he could tell he was losing her, her eyes said plenty. "Ella, just let me finish the story — it's not over yet. Look, I-I'm sorry, I was too scared to ever tell you before. We both chose you, together, okay? I promise."

She turned and started walking away from him.

"You can't take it back now," she whimpered, feeling betrayed.

Her head was down, and her bushy tail listlessly dragged in the grass beneath her dress.

"Wait, Ella," he uttered after her.

He felt like a piece of trash, a total idiot, she was still far too young for the real truth.

He remembered the first time he walked away from Judy all those years ago, right after he handed her his application.

A thought suddenly crossed his mind.

It came out of nowhere as he blurted it out.

"I made something for you," he said, a last ditch attempt to make her stop.

She did not get very far. Her trudging feet came to a halt.

"What is it?" she asked, now huffing and puffing, nose sniffling, still refusing to face him.

"You'll have to come with me to find out," he said playfully.

"No! Tell me!" she twisted erratically; her voice was a bag full of mixed emotions, and her gaze focused on him like a laser beam. Several sharp fangs stuck out past her lips. She gripped her book angrily. "What did you make?"

"The pie," said her father, smirking slyly, barely disarming the atom bomb that had been handed to him.

The argument was as good as over.

" _What kind?_ " she asked, her words cut the air like a buzzsaw.

"What kind?" he repeated, genuinely asking an invisible audience watching them. He pointed back at her. "Your favorite, of course! And I spent a long time on it, too!"

Her free paw clenched itself into something resembling a fist, she eyed him up and down, and secretly her mouth watered. It was her one weakness. Her father's pies. It was his one saving grace besides his bear hugs, and she silently cursed him for it. How did he _always_ win?

"I made it with _two_ cups of love this time," he added, feeling confident enough to slowly approach her. "And two whole bags of your mom's blueberries. It's a personal masterpiece of mine, probably my best work ever. And it can all be yours if you just come with me."

He was close again, back inside her comfort zone.

Getting down on both knees and grinning stupidly, he motioned for another hug, spreading his arms.

"What do you say, Blueberry?" he asked softly, trying not to let his anticipation show. "I love you, and I'll understand if you won't forgive me right now, because what I said was stupid, very stupid, but will you at least give me a hug before you go off hiding again?"

Victory.

That did the trick.

With a tear in her eye, she threw herself around him, and her bulky frames bulged against his ear.

"N-no," she sputtered, still sniffling and comfortably settling into the crook of his neck. "I'm too hungry to hide. I just want some pie."

Nick sighed, contentedly holding his daughter.

"Me too," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no catching him.

His blazing fast reflexes could not be matched.

Certain things were expected from the son of Zootopia's Chief of Police, a rabbit, just like him, and his mother. His parents had only ever asked him to do well in school, so he did, though reluctantly.

He was a Wilde, definitely — James Wilde, to be exact, and his father was a fox.

Although, he fit in exceptionally well with his cousins, the hundreds of them on the Hopps side of the family, and he always enjoyed any chance to show off his natural athleticism around them. For a nine year old rabbit, he gave even the teenagers a run for their money, with his sharp blue eyes, his stone grey fur, a tufty white chest, and an equally fluffy tail; many said the resemblance between him and his mom was uncanny, almost like it was by design.

And he relished that thought. He had always respected his father, but his relationship with his mom was different—

"I got you, Jim!" yelled a young rabbit.

"He's mine!" said another.

There was a stampede of rabbits.

The football was his, taking a ride on the grey bullet that went racing through the night.

At least twenty of his cousins swarmed around him — attacking more like leopards than rabbits— and they would need every single one of them to stop him. He clutched the ball tightly to his slender frame. His own team was left in the dust — he plowed ahead, juked out three of the closest rabbits, bobbing from side to side like a rabbit joystick, zigzagging, his paws dug in, gripping the grass and dirt beneath him. His eyes darted between all of them, searching for the path of least resistance. But there would be resistance.

"You can't get me!" Jim laughed at them, his floppy ears and track shorts flapping in the wind as he ran, panting, breathless, bolting through the tiniest of gaps in the defense, his voice full of youthful intensity.

They were closing in on him — he simply jumped over his smaller cousins. "I'm gonna' score!" he yelled.

The tallest rabbit among them, also the oldest and fastest, got ahead of the pack and leaped, lunging for him, and threw his tanned hide into his side, grabbing his shoulders — Jim yelped as they both fell, hitting the earth with all of his weight as they tumbled onto the turf — and the ball tumbled out of his paws, bouncing off into the grass.

Stripped. For the first time that night. He was humiliated.

A pile of rabbits frenzied like piranhas over the fumbled ball; his glory was lost forever.

"— ngh —no!" he grunted, lurching on his side.

His tallest cousin got to his feet quickly, a tan colored rabbit with grey eyes, wearing dirt-covered gym shorts and nothing else, and stood over him, offering to help him up.

Jim begrudgingly accepted. "Just wait, X," he struggled to breathe, the wind had been knocked clean out of him. "Next year ... no one will get me."

"We'll see, bud," the older rabbit coolly replied. Xavier was Judy's oldest nephew, and he walked with an overly confident swagger for a seventeen year old.

The team captains watched the mountain of fluff disseminate, and Xavier laughed. His team had recovered the ball. It was game over.

"Thirty-three to twenty-eight," Jim told him.

"Nope. You were two yards short," the taller rabbit retorted. "You're still at twenty-seven, time's up, and we got the ball back. That means we're done here."

"B-but," he sputtered. Jim secretly clenched his teeth in frustration, grumbling.

"Anyways, I think your mom wants you," he added, pointing off the field.

The small rabbit turned, feeling the fur on his neck stand up. He had almost forgotten she was even on the farm.

But she was indeed there ... standing half a field away, _without_ his sister. Her arms were folded, too. Her icy glare could freeze an army in their tracks, and it was aimed directly at him.

A chill creeped up his spine, to which he reflexively gulped.

"I'll leave you to it," said Xavier as he walked away, rejoining the others.

Abandoned. Left to die at the paws of his mother. Learning a trick from his dad, he casually brushed himself off.

He donned his trademark mask of stoicism as he approached her, smirking, sauntering like nothing in the world could bother him. It always seemed to work for his father.

But it was not working now. His mom's expression remained unchanged. He aborted the mission.

"Jim, I thought you were going to help look for her," said Judy, her words oozing with venom; her presence dominated even the enormous house behind her. She stood about twice as tall as her son. His dad nearly quadrupled him.

"I-I ... um —" he muddled his words, rubbing his paws together nervously; her son was horrible at lying. "I was just asking anyone — i-if they saw a fox running around. But they didn't — so I'm gonna' go keep looking over there—"

"— no need _,_ " she cut him off abruptly. "Your father already went to look for her."

"... oh," he uttered, shrinking in his grass-stained tee shirt, trying to make himself look small, desperately trying to avoid her eyes. His long ears fell behind his head. He had hoped his dad would not find out.

"When you see her next, you're going to apologize," she scolded.

He winced, peering up at her. "M-mom, I just wanted her to come play with us. She _never_ plays with us — she never plays with _me_."

"You know she doesn't like roughhousing, Jim," she said, shrugging. "You want to be an officer someday, right? Then you should probably learn what extortion means. Taking her book away isn't going to magically fix her fears."

He lowered his head, looking at the grass beneath his furry feet. "I'm sorry, Mom, I just ... didn't know what to do. I didn't want her to leave. I swear. "

Her paws rested on her hips. And she stood there, shaking her head; she could almost smell the guilt radiating off of him.

She sighed at length, rolling her eyes at nothing, and moved silently towards him. Taking a tip from her husband, she hugged him, and the small rabbit went quiet, like a dog that lost its bark. He withheld his normal, over-exaggerated protests to public displays of affection, instead holding his head calmly against her flowery purple shirt.

* * *

The only noise, besides the outdated printer running at full capacity, was that of clacking keys.

The office of Zootopia's Courthouse was jammed.

Occupying nearly every chair in the waiting room were an assortment of mammals, most trying to appear professional, some even wearing suits and ties. A line formed at the front counter, while a clearly uninterested lioness sat behind it, clacking away on her keyboard.

A rabbit, decked in full police gear, along with his standard black vest, tapped his foot impatiently. He was now first in line.

"Hello, M'am," he said, peeking over the counter; his voice was young, but mature. "I have an appointment with the DA for 2:30, so, if you'll kindly just point me in the right direction, I can be on my way."

The lioness moaned, plainly very annoyed, and pointed her talon down a random hall.

The rabbit simply nodded, walking off without anyone's notice.

He was already late.


	4. Chapter 4

"That can't be everyone," said Stu Hopps, Judy's father. He busily studied a list in his paw.

The sky had turned a bluish green, just as the last few embers of the sun trickled over the horizon, over the treeline, and over the hills of Bunnyburrow.

The peak of the tent was impossible to see, at least from the outside, and especially in the dark, and from the inside its ceiling seemed to reach for the sky. Fifty by fifty yards of space — practically infeasible dimensions for rabbits to build in one afternoon, so they hired a company to construct the tent for them. Rabbits in Bunnyburrow were good at two things, and building tents was not one of them.

It was Stu's birthday, and everyone knew it. He happily stood at the entrance to the practically endless tent, which was wide open so all could see inside, greeting every bunny that showed up with lively enthusiasm; little rabbits received a pleasant 'Heya!', while adults received a firm pawshake and a 'Howyadoin'?', along with an occasional hug here and there.

He had already greeted hundreds of guests, and more were still coming; his eyes had a very understandable tiredness to them.

"Yep, definitely missing a few," said Stu, still poring over the names.

The tent, as big as it was, was loud and fully aglow, an oasis of lights in the sea of grass fields, and the laughter and chatter going on inside could certainly be heard for miles around. The heavenly smells of the food were intoxicating. It was going to be a good night.

"Dad!"

A voice called from across the way, and Stu's ears stood up.

It was a fox, wearing his own borrowed plaid shirt and waving to him, along with his much smaller daughter, and he held her tiny red paw in his. She still carried her book.

"Hey, if it isn't my FIL, Nick!" exclaimed the rabbit, smiling as wide as ever. FIL, or 'fox-in-law', started as a running joke several years ago. "And little Ella, I see, the bookworm of the family. Whatcha' reading there?"

The petite fox's eyes shimmered behind her titanic lenses, standing just a head shy of her grandfather's height. "Tails of Two Cities," she replied spunkily.

The well in her heart was almost full again. A second person had asked.

"Oh, I bet that's a good one," he said with a nod; he motioned for them to come inside. "I just saw your mom and your brother, they probably found a table already. I hope you're both hungry, because there's plenty to go around. And you, Ella, you're so thin! Take all the seconds you want. You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over."

Nick squeezed Ella's paw. "Tell grandpa 'Happy Birthday', please."

"Happy Birthday, Grandpa Stu!" she chirped.

The rabbit gently deflected the comment, "Oh, aren't you the sweetest," he said with a hearty chuckle. "No need for any of that, though. I've gotten enough 'Happy Birthday's today to fill a lifetime. Why don't you two go on inside?"

"Is the pie in there?" Ella asked her father, looking to him for guidance.

His eyes widened. "Uh, tell you what," he patted her on the back, practically pushing her into the tent. "Go find your mom, and Jim, and I'll be right back with the pie, okay? I left it in the fridge."

She hesitantly stepped forward, licking her lips. "Okay, but hurry please. I'm hungry."

"You got it, Blueberry, right away," he said, giving her a kiss on the head.

And then she was off, meandering through the crowd of rabbits, tables, and chairs; all eyes fell on her. A fox was a rare sight at any Hopps reunion, and Ella had become something of a local celebrity around her greatly extended family.

She was met with plenty of smiles and questions, and her green dress glimmered for all to see. Her anticipation for pie overcame any social anxiety she had previously.

From outside, Nick could hear cheering.

"Ehh ... she'll be fine," Stu said to his much taller son-in-law, as they both watched her go. "We treat our family well."

"I know," Nick said, tucking his paws into his pockets. "Thanks, Dad."

"Didn't make the pie, yet, didya?" asked Stu, smirking.

"Was it that obvious?" asked the fox, starting to head back for the house. "I'll be quick. I promise."

"No worries, FIL," the rabbit laughed. "Oh, that reminds me," he added. "Would you mind helping Bonnie with the cake? I've been meaning to check up on her, but I haven't gotten the chance yet."

"Sure thing, Dad," said Nick, strolling off.

He grinned every step of the way.

* * *

The officer glanced between the numerous doors.

The hall was long, snaking through the building in many directions. It was a small wonder he did not get lost. Every door was just as opulent, produced using some species of rosewood, and their golden plaques were etched with ornate lettering. As he walked, he made no sound on the plush carpet that comfortably cushioned his feet.

But, otherwise, it was completely sterile.

"She was always meant to work here," he said to himself, suppressing a laugh. He had only his words to keep him company. "I guess we both achieved our dreams." He peered at his wristwatch, and the time was 2:45.

The hall came abruptly to a dead end, and the doors ran out of names. Stopping for a second, he unlatched the left breast pocket of his vest and took out a folded white paper, then went back to scanning the wood.

"It has to be this one," he said, eyeing one in particular.

It was near the end, having the same overly orthodox style as every other government office, but he pushed that thought out of his mind.

He balled the note up, " ... she didn't really give me much to go on."

The door read simply: OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY

But there was no name. He hesitated, reaching for the handle.

And as he pushed the door, letting it slowly drift open, it produced a dreadful sound, a sharp creaking. A window with heavy blinds allowed only dribbles of light to enter the office, and his eyes had trouble adjusting.

Then he felt the paper under his feet, crumpling noisily. "Hello?" he asked aloud.

No response. His paw found the light switch, which was off, strangely, and he flipped it on.

The room was instantly flooded with an overpowering, white, monochrome light.

He immediately regretted it.


	5. Chapter 5

Nick barged into the room, startling his mother-in-law half to death.

The kitchen was in absolute ruins. Mixing bowls were strewn everywhere, there were spots of flour on the floor, and varieties of ingredients were littered about the countertops. The casseroles were already long gone.

It was almost time.

Bonnie's apron was tattered, soaked, and stained with just about every kind of berry sauce that you could buy at the market, and, somehow, she managed to maintain her composure. Using a rubber spatula, she was putting the finishing touches of white icing on a gargantuan cake, five layers high. Nick noticed, fleetingly, but he had other thoughts racing through his mind.

"Nicky!" she said, smiling in her usual motherly way. "Did you find her?"

Nick went to rummaging in a drawer under the oven. "Mom, I'm so sorry I took so long," he said, finding the pie pan. "She wandered off pretty far, and up a tree, no less." He glanced around the kitchen, setting the cast metal briskly on the counter and moving next for the refrigerator. He faintly noticed a familiar smell. "I'll help clean up everything after the party, I promise, but right now I need to make the greatest pie in history for my daughter."

As he pillaged the freezer, desperately poring through bags of old frozen veggies, Bonnie audibly cleared her throat; he stopped. He turned, nabbing the frozen pie crust at that very moment.

"Nicky, look over there," she said, motioning with her head to the counter. "I made some extra."

His face immediately lit up. Waves of joy began crashing over his shoulders. "Pie!" he cried, grinning toothily.

And there they were. Their beauty could not be readily outdone. He was so preoccupied before that he barely caught a whiff of them. But he smelled them now, the room was overflowing with the heady aroma of blueberries, and they sat proudly on the counter in a tidy stack of three. They were all his — and his daughter's.

"Mom!" he yelped as he ran up to her, dropping the pie crust, throwing his arms around her shoulders. "Oh, thank you! Thank you for realizing I'm not a perfect father!" He nearly squeezed the life out of her.

"Not — a perfect father?" she struggled to say. "What — do — you mean?"

He set her down without even realizing he had swept her off her feet.

"I'll explain later," he said, grabbing a second spatula. "Just tell me what I can do to help."

* * *

It was quiet.

All of the mahogany desks and cabinets were dusty, littered with free papers, empty coffee cups, open books, five-inch thick binders, several staplers, more empty cups, and still more trash. The grey carpet, what little of it that could be seen, was plagued by coffee stains. The waste bin, sturdy as it was, sitting beside the desk, looked like it had overflowed a week ago and was struggling to hold up the immense weight it carried.

The rabbit let the door shut quietly behind him. He did not want any passerby to see.

"Hello?" he called out uneasily, his mouth agape at the sight before him. And then he saw her.

A female fox was slumped over the main desk, dressed in an olive-green suit, still sitting in her chair, holding her face within her paws. The collar of her dress shirt was wet. He saw the pool of tears beneath her, collecting on the laminated wood and deeply saturating a nearby log book; it was smeared with streaks of wet ink and claw marks marring the surfaces of its pages.

Her breathing was labored; every exhale quivered, reverberating throughout the room. She had been crying for quite some time. His worst fear had been realized.

"Elly?" he asked anxiously.

* * *

"And what do you want?" responded the little fox, clearly frustrated with her physically smaller brother.

The young rabbit shrank in his seat.

There was a vast array of lights above them, brimming the entirety of the party tent. Tons of rabbits were noisily running around, mostly children, making trouble, yelling at each other, eating food, hiding under tables, and some were whining like babies. Meanwhile, the adults were talking just as much, almost as loudly, sharing jokes, laughing, bragging about their kids, bragging about new additions to their homes, job promotions, last Sunday's game, how good the food was . . .

And then there were the Wildes. Judy had left her son with very specific instructions while she went to get food for them. Apologize, and be quiet about it.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Jim offered, barely sounding genuine.

Ella uncomfortably scooted away from him at their table, her poofy tail angrily swishing back and forth. "You're not sorry. You always take my books when I don't want to play," she accused, staring daggers at him.

"Then why couldn't you?" he asked, closing the distance between them. It took all of his inner strength not to make a crack about her glasses.

"I don't have to give you a reason, Jimmy," she said.

"Well, okay, fine — but maybe I just wanted my sister on my team for once," he fired back; he immediately lowered his volume, suddenly remembering what his mom had said. "We could have won, Elly. We could have won if you were on my team."

"So all you care about is winning?" she asked, visibly hurt by what he said.

"No, that's not what I'm trying to say." He took a handful of seconds in order to carefully choose his next words. "What I mean is . . . I just wanted to win _with_ you. I wanted to show everyone how cool you are."

"Liar," she jabbed, shaking her head. "You always lie to get out of trouble. You don't think I'm cool."

"Yes, I do. I mean it. I'm not lying this time."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not," he insisted. "How can I make it up to you, Elly? I can introduce you to Tom if you want, that fox at recess. I know you have a crush on him."

"What?" she growled, her mouth was practically seething with fire. " _H_ ow — could you _possibly_ — _know that!?_ "

"Uh . . ." he hesitated. "I might've . . . accidentally . . . read your diary while you were sleeping."

The tiny fox fully reared her gums; her sharp, pearly fangs were displayed for all to see. " _— You did what?_ " she hissed like a cobra. " _Since when can_ y _ou read?_ "

"I'm sorry!" he put his paws up as if they were small, furry shields. "I'll do whatever you want, Elly — please! Just don't tell Mom and Dad! They'll eat me alive!"

" _Not if I eat you first,_ " she threatened, her words like a cold chill in the wind; she extended her claws so that he could see.

"Look — I'm really sorry!" he blurted out. "I'm sorry I read your diary! I'm sorry I took your book! I just wish you'd talk to me sometimes! That's all! Okay?"

Her eyes flickered at the last part he said, and she slowly retracted her claws. He was clearly shaken. The fox also withdrew the razorblades in her mouth.

"Talk to you?" she asked apprehensively. "Why would you want to talk to me? I thought you hated me."

"N-no," he uttered, timidly putting his paws down; he kept his eyes firmly on hers. "No, Elly. The truth is — I'm . . . I'm actually kind of jealous of you."

She said nothing at first, instead just staring back at him like he had grown a second head. A million thoughts raced through her mind before she was able to get out anything, and even then she wished she had said something more intelligent.

"What?" she whispered.


End file.
